The Fall
by Stop Thinking it's Annoying
Summary: Sherlock and the Doctor go back in time to meet Molly Hooper and the make a clone to fake Sherlock's death. They are caught by Mycroft and have to explain the whole plan to him before he lets them go.


The Fall

The Doctor stepped out of the TARDIS and onto the large breezy roof. Pulling the door shut behind him, he looked around to find out where he was; _ah, 21__st__ century London,_ he thought. _So it's happening today, then._ Stepping away from the blue box, the Timelord turned as a quick movement in the corner of his eye caught his attention. _It's begun_, the Doctor thought, watching the stranger in the street below clamber out of the cab and practically throw some money towards the expectant driver. The sandy haired man had a phone clamped to his ear and he was looking around desperately. He continued to speak into his phone, then his eyes snapped upwards suddenly, face drawn and eyes terrified. The Doctor turned his face upward, following the man's gaze to a figure standing on the roof opposite him. A dark shape lay on the roof behind him, a crimson tinted pool painting the asphalt underneath the individual's head, with what appeared to be a gun lying beside it. The curly haired gent standing on the rooftop was also talking on a phone, looking downwards at the man on the ground.

The pair's eyes were locked together as they spoke frantically to each other, the breeze lifting slightly, enabling The Doctor to catch a few words. "Nobody could be _that _clever." A pause. Then a laugh. "I researched you. I discovered everything that I could to impress you. It was a _trick_. It was just a magic trick." The man in the street began to walk forward, clearly meaning to go up onto the roof and get him. However the person on the hospital roof shouted down the phone, panic edging his voice, "No! Stay exactly where you are. Don't move." He raised a hand out towards the gentleman on the street, his stare filled with masked hatred at what he was doing. "Keep your eyes fixed on me."

The breeze falls again and The Doctor hears no more for a while. He watches as the two men speak and then hears a snatch of conversation as a sudden gust of wind ruffles his hair. "Goodbye, John." The man on the rooftop dropped his arms down in defeat, pausing a moment in hesitation before throwing his phone behind him backwards in one smooth motion. He looked forward, arms held by his side for a few seconds. Then he raised his arms, body tilting forward. With a gentle sigh, The Doctor stepped back into the TARDIS and vanished, a cyclic wheezing echoing quietly across the London rooftops.

Sherlock raised his arms, preparing to jump. He knew what was about to happen, but he must make it look like the very end. It was so painful watching John in the street, unable to let him near, unable to feel his best friend close to him before he 'died'. Taking one last breath, he let himself fall forwards and down to the street below. He vaguely heard John shouting "Sherlock!" but it was too late.

Sherlock didn't see the TARDIS when it landed. The Doctor had put it just a second out of sync to make it invisible, so when Sherlock fell, the consulting detective thought that The Doctor wouldn't catch him. But then he saw the interior as the doors swung inwards, saw the bed sheet that would soon catch him, (how ironic). He crashed straight through the main room of the TARDIS, landing heavily at the back of the library, cushioned by a shelf of books and a striped scarf that somehow managed to wrap itself around Sherlock's head, cushioning his fall. Sherlock didn't see anything else; he could only picture the torture in his friend's face. Guilt gripped Sherlock's heart with its chilling fingers, driving a knife of agony deep into the blood pumping organ. He lay at the bottom of the TARDIS unmoving, wrapped in the bed sheet and scarf, until they had left the planet.

John saw Sherlock jump and ran forwards. Nothing would stop him now; he had to reach his friend. The army doctor was filled with a conviction that Sherlock couldn't be dead, there was no way. After _all_ they'd been through! He crossed into the road, not noticing a cyclist coming up behind, throwing him forwards and slamming him into the ground. His head was ringing as he stood up and stumbled towards the body. John stared at the blood pooling around the consulting detective's head and, ignoring the protests of the medics that were already crowding around the body; he pushed through and grabbed Sherlock's hand, feeling for a pulse in the wrist. There was none.

As the realisation dawned upon him that Sherlock was gone, John stumbled and fell into the person holding him back. They tried to pull him upright but the army doctor wasn't in control of his own body any more. He couldn't think, move or breathe. His best friend… His one and only friend… Was dead.

Standing up, Sherlock walked groggily towards The Doctor who was standing at the controls, occasionally pushing a button or pulling a lever. The Doctor looked the consulting detective up and down, a concerned look in his eye, his gaze lingering on the two scarves that Sherlock was wearing. "Why are you wearing my scarf?" The Doctor said pointedly. Sherlock stared at the other man, dumbfounded.

"Your scarf? I don't believe I'm wearing _your_ scarf." He looked down the two scarves on his neck. "This one? Oh this is mine now." He held the scarf closer to him, pulling the knot tighter.

The Doctor exhaled, his gaze filled with sentiment. "Fine," he said at last. "You can keep it. Just be careful with it!" he said, watching Sherlock like a hawk.

"So, what date?" The Doctor asked casually, moving to push some buttons on what appeared to be an old typewriter. Sherlock glanced away for a second, dates and observations flashing through his mind, before conveying his approximate date to The Doctor.

"1999, February 14th. Preferably at about 3pm, then we can meet her coming out of University."

"Shouldn't we go forwards a couple of years, until she knew you?" The Doctor asked, unsure of Sherlock's motives.

"This will be the point when she meets me. Don't worry Doctor." Sherlock replied, looking at the Doctor, face filled with assurance. "It'll be the right date. Let's go."

The Doctor typed in a few more keys on the typewriter, and then moved to another part of the control panel, flicking some switches. "Hold on then Sherlock, we're going for a ride!" Just as Sherlock gripped onto the railings beside him, the Doctor pulled a lever and in a flash they were spinning, tumbling and twisting through time.


End file.
